


Gentle like the moon

by Fearless_leaderr



Series: The Spooky brothers [3]
Category: The Umbrella Academy (Comics), The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Aftermath of Violence, Angst, Blood and Injury, Canonical Character Death, Ghosts, Reginald Hargreeves' A+ Parenting, Spooky boys, these two are the best, this is from Bens point of view
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-26
Updated: 2019-02-26
Packaged: 2019-11-06 03:06:47
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,622
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17931647
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fearless_leaderr/pseuds/Fearless_leaderr
Summary: Distantly he can hear his siblings clatter out the room, yammering about how cool their new codenames are. How much it makes them sound like superheroes.Number Six’s code name doesn’t make him sound like a superhero.It makes him sound like a monster.





	Gentle like the moon

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, back again.
> 
> So, Ben and Klaus huh? I just wanted to explore the life of Ben a little more, because it can't have been easy eh? There's a small part of the story towards the end which is the same scenes as I did in the first part of this series, just from Ben's point of view this time so I've not when into much detail. Don't need to have read part one, but it would provide more context.
> 
> Hope you all enjoy.

For as long as he could remember, Number Six always knew there was something _different_ about him. When he was a toddler, he had been the quickest to anger out of his siblings. He would cry and shout and scream, throwing his toys at whoever had annoyed him. Father would always punish him for his insolence, and Number Six would always snarl in response and push disgruntled hands away. It was like there was a part of him that knew he was bigger than their father, bigger than anything in this house. The anger inside him was all-consuming, cold and harsh and violent.

When he was seven years old, people had broken into the house. The men weren’t real threats compared to what they would go up against; simple thief’s in comparison, but they had guns and him and his siblings were all so small. The men had rounded them all into the living room, glancing nervously at each other like they didn’t know what to do next. From beside him he felt Number Four squirming, his eyes focussed on something just behind the two figures. His face had gone pale, and his wide eyes began to fill with tears.

“You’ve killed someone,” he whispered, his gaze becoming unfocused.

What comes next is somewhat of a blur to Number Six. Number Two slaps his palm over Number Four’s mouth just as the boy begins to sob, his chest heaving as he clamps his own hands over his ears. The two men start at that, and the taller of the two scowls, raising his gun in Number Four’s direction. Before Number Six’s brain can even catch up with what’s happening, he stands, and the guns are on him. His body is on fire. He can’t breathe.

It hurt’s so much, and he’s so so angry. Something unfurls from around his ribs and he opens his mouth in a silent scream, eyes rolling to the back of his head. He can’t hear anything but screaming, so much screaming. His, the thief’s, his brothers and sisters.

When he comes to he’s standing in the middle of the living room, the still at the centre of a storm. Something drips into his eye and he wipes it away. He looks at his hand slowly and gasps when he sees it’s covered in blood.

Slowly he turns, observing his surroundings. The first thing he sees is his siblings. They’re all staring at him, wide eyed and pale. Number one looks horrified and is shielding Number Three behind him. Number Two is shaking but trying to hold strong like Number One, his hands spread out and sheltering Number Five and Number Seven.

Number Four stands just out reach of the rest and is looking at Number Six like he’s one of the ghost’s that follows him around. Then, his gaze slides to something just behind Sixes head.

Number Six turns slowly. There is two bodies in the room, bloodied and brutalised. One is split perfectly in half, intestines spilling out his upper half like a weeping smile. He doesn’t know where the legs are. The other thief has somehow ended up on the balcony above them, his eyes listless and blood dripping with a _tap tap tap_ onto the wooden floor.

There is a clapping from behind them suddenly, which echoes harshly in the utter silence of the hall. Father is standing observing the mess with a smile, his eyes lit with a clinical kind of interest.

“Well done Number Six. We have just discovered your powers. Training will begin at once!” he had said, looking bizarrely pleased despite the horror’s in front of him. `

Six had stared at him for a moment, his bottom lip trembling dangerously before he doubled over and vomited all over the floor.

 

***

 

It’s two weeks before their first public mission that Father decides they need code names. He lines them all up in the living room, stroking his beard thoughtfully as he observes them. He starts at his golden boy and makes his way down the line.

Number One becomes Spaceboy, Two becomes The kraken, Three becomes The rumour, Four becomes The Séance and Five is simply called The boy.

Once Father gets to him however, he pauses, humming to himself.

“Lastly, Number Six. You shall be known as…” there’s a pause so long that Six feels his stomach drop a little, and he shifts uncomfortably, glancing quickly to the side to meet eye’s with Number Four.

“The horror,” Father concludes, sounding pleased with himself.

It’s because he’s already looking at Four he can see the other boys eye’s widen, a mirror of his own. He feels frozen on the spot, like he’s suddenly turned to stone. His heart begins beating in his chest and dismay claws at his throat, making it difficult to breathe. He drops his gaze to the floor and stares blankly at the old, worn wood. He feels nauseous. Distantly he can hear his siblings clatter out the room, yammering about how _cool_ their new codenames are. How much it makes them sound like superheroes.

Number Six’s code name doesn’t make him sound like a superhero.

It makes him sound like a monster.

It’s only when he feels hand on his face he glances up, staring at Number Four. He hadn’t even realised there was anyone else in the room with how loud the roaring in his ears had been. His face is blurry through quickly developing tears.

“He wouldn’t have meant it like that,” Number Four had said, but there was doubt in his eyes. Anger at their father and the need to comfort his brother where raging war in his head, which created a sort of grimace on his face. It made Number Six uncomfortable.

He ducked out from beneath the hands and rubbed violently at his face, trying to rid of the insistent tears. It didn’t work: every time he dried his cheeks new droplets formed.

“Don’t lie to me! He called me that because that’s how he sees me, and that’s how the worlds going to see me as well. I’m revolting,” he cries, giving up on the pretence and letting the tears fall freely.

“I’m a monster,” he adds quietly, feeling that familiar pull from behind his ribs. For a moment he is furious. If he could reach inside himself, he would pull the whole damn creature out and watch it burn in front of him. But Father had always said that he and the creature weren’t two beings, they were one, and co-habitation is key. So, for the creature to die, he had to die with it. Sometimes a small part of him wonders if that would be so bad, then he thinks about his siblings taking up an entire pew at his funeral and the thought leaves his head.

In front of him his brother stares at him for a long moment, his mouth hanging open and his eye’s wet before he’s running across the room. For a horrible moment Six thinks that Four is going to tell their Father he was being pathetic, and his throat tightens up. But Number Four hadn’t left and had instead went to stand in front of their mother who had been dusting the cabinet in the corner.

“Hey, mom? Do you think that we can have real name’s as well as our nicknames?” Number Four asks quietly, glancing quickly at him before returning his own gaze towards their mother.

She’s silent for a moment, and Number Four grabs her hand and smiles softly.

“Please Mom, I can’t even spell Séance. I just think it would be much safer for us to refer to each other by real names outside so people don’t always know who we are,” he adds, his eye’s large and pleading. Number Four had always been good at getting what he wants off mom- it was one of his many gifts. Mom had been silent for another beat, her gaze far away, and Four tugged at her hand again.

Her eyes met his then and she returned his smile.

“I don’t see why not, Sweetie. I was thinking about names based on your native countries,” she had replied, humming thoughtfully to herself.

That night, when everyone was asleep, Number Six had snuck out of his room and creeped down the hall. He had opened the door to Number Four’s room and let himself in, walking over to the bed and climbing in beside his brother. He was still awake, as was expected. Number Four didn’t sleep overly well unless there was someone else there with him.

Number Six curled up on his side, tucking Number Four’s arm in between his before resting his head on the pillow.

“Thank you, for getting us names. Real names, it feels so much better than getting called hor… what father called us,” he murmurs, his eyes shining with gratitude. He loved all his siblings, but Number Four was different. Number Four wasn’t just his brother, he was his best friend. His confident, his support, his tether to the real world when everything else seemed so chaotic.

“No worries, little brother,” Number Four had replied, reaching out to pinch his cheek.

Number Six batted his hand away, good natured smile turning into a scowl as he rubs his cheek. Number Four was also an asshole.

“We are literally the same age?” he had snarked back, his eyebrow raising at the other boy. Number Four had cackled at that, wrapping his lanky arm around his neck and pulling him closer.

“We might be the same age, Six, but you’ll always been my little brother,” he had said in an undertone, his tone pitched low like he was telling him the worlds biggest secret. Number six swatted his hands again once more, but his lips where quirking at the corners. He found that whilst the term annoyed him when it came from Number One or even Number Two, it never phased him coming from Number Four. Perhaps because Number Four was the only person he every refered to as ‘big brother’ in the unconsciousness of his mind.

“Shut up,” said Number Six, settling down again and yawning. There is a lapse of silence where they both get comfortable, and just as he’s drifting off Number Four speaks.

“You’re not a monster, you know that right? You’re the best out the whole bunch of us,” Four had said, his gazed fixed up at the ceiling. Number Six swallowed the sudden lump in his throat and clenched his jaw, feeling overwhelming appreciation for his brother but not knowing how to voice it. Instead he leans over, presses a quick kiss to the other boy’s forehead and retreats.

 “Goodnight, Klaus,” he whispers, smiling shakily at the other boy for a moment before turning his back to him, pulling the covers up and over his shoulders and stilling.

 “Goodnight, Ben,” replies Klaus, staring at his back until he too drifts off to sleep.

 

 ***

 

“Come on Ben, you know he didn’t mean it,” Klaus had said for the third time that day, ducking out the way just in time to miss the door that was about to slam shut in his face.

Once he’s inside he crosses his arms across his chest, looking disgruntled. “Come on, you’re being childish. You know Luther just opens his mouth without thinking sometimes.”

“He called me a freak,” Ben had replied scathingly, his fingers curling up into fists. He could smell alcohol on Klaus’s breath. Could see how big his pupils where. He doesn’t want to have this conversation.

They had been training earlier, a light sparing session having turned into a full own brawl. It had been fun at first, rough housing with his siblings like they had as kids. Then he had gone up against Luther. The boy was so much taller than him, and still getting used to his strength. He had picked Ben up and flung him over his back, a simple move if he hadn’t been the modern equivalent to Goliath. Ben had went flying, flailing in the air as the ground had been fast approaching. Something inside of him had reacted to his panic and a tentacle had appeared, grabbing onto the tree nearby and stilling his movement. He had slid to the floor, somewhat pleased at his own reaction time before he happened to hear Luther lean over to Allison and say, “Why does he always need to be so freaky.”

Ben had stormed away from the courtyard then, furious tears dripping down his cheeks. Since then he’d been trying to avoid all of them. It was never that simple with Klaus.

“Go away,” he added, trying to push the other boy back out the door. It didn’t work.

“You’re pulling away from us all. You spent all your time in your room, and when you are with us your head is always shoved in a book. It’s like you don’t even care anymore,” Klaus had emplored then frantically, like he was scared he’d never get the chance again. It only made him angrier, because out of all of them, he had thought that Klaus would understand.

Disconnecting from everyone around him had been easier than trying to be a part of something he knows he doesn’t fit into. His siblings all love him sure, but to them, he’s just there to win battles. They don’t understand what it’s like to fear your own shadow, to despise your very own existence.

“Yeah, well I’m not here to help solve everyone’s battles, Klaus. You all cause your own problems and I don’t want anything to do with it. You’s just use me for your own benefit. I’m just everyone’s little pet freak” he had spat, getting right in the other boys face. There’s a small part of his brain which urges him to be nasty so this can be over and he can be alone, and he grabs at it.

“Father would still love you if you got your shit together and stopped putting that crap in your body. Some of us can’t just drink away our problem’s. Not that you would understand.”

Klaus had snarled then, his lips curled back into a sneer. He rounds on Ben, snarling once more before pushing the boy into the wardrobe behind them. “How dare you. Get your head out of your ass, not everything in this world is out to get you. Some of us have problems too, dickwad.”

Ben’s head clatters against the surface painfully and he stills, looking back at his brother with surprise.

Klaus seems to be in shock as well. He stares at him for a long moment, mouth falling open slightly before he looks down at his hands. They are shaking excessively, a clear sign of a come down.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean…” he begins slowly before trailing off, his mouth turning down into a frown. His Adam’s apple bounces up and down his throat and Ben watches as he scratches nervously at his arm, a new tic which had been developed roughly about the same time as Klaus had started using frequently.

There a long period where nothing happens, the air so full of tension that Ben thinks if he squinted hard enough, he could see it. Then, Klaus shifts, reaching out to yank his chin up to meet his eyes.

“What are you doing?” Ben asks hesitantly, frowning slightly at the turn of events. His emotions at the moment are confusing: he doesn’t know whether to leave the room or throw himself to the floor and start crying. There’s a tiny part of him, animalistic and primal, which urges him to fight back. He smothers it as soon as it enters his mind.   

“I’m checking your pupils. Fuck Ben, I didn’t mean to hurt you, I swear. I just, you’re not the only one who hates your powers. You know this. And you were wrong about the old man. Father wouldn’t love me whether I was on drugs or not, because he is incapable of love. He loves no one but himself… and maybe Luther, but that’s not the point. You don’t have to try and one up on me cause I know how shitty it is, okay? Luther didn’t mean what he said, and you know it. Once you left the courtyard, he looked like someone had just kicked him in the stomach. And Diego shouted at him, a lot. They do care, and so do I.

“I just, I miss you. You never seem to want to be around us anymore.” A pause.

“Where have you gone Ben?” Klaus asks weakly, his teeth sinking into his bottom lip as it begins to quiver.

Ben isn’t even sure who moves first, but soon they’re clattering into each other’s arms, holding on tight like they were afraid the other person will disappear. He’s not sure how he’d survive If anything happened to Klaus.

“I’m here,” he answers gently, patting his brother’s hair soothingly as the drugs work the way out his system. 

He’s here. 

 

 ***

 

 It’s a sunny day in April when dad reports a mission for them. It’s a hostage situation in a bank downtown, and unsurprisingly none of his siblings are willing to take it.

After a beat in which it becomes obvious that no one else is going to volunteer he sighs, forcing a smile onto his face and following his Father out of the room. As he’s leaving he glances back at them, eyes searching for Klaus. His brother mouths that he is a goody two shoes, and he laughs in response, smiling fondly. He could always rely on Klaus to make things a little better, and he already knew that he’d probably end up in his brother’s room later that night, seeking comfort for the event which was about to transpire.

When he arrives it becomes abundantly clear this is not a simple hostage situation. The place is absolutely teaming with men in masks, all armed with guns. They all aim instantly, and Ben gets to work.

Once he’s killed around half the men, he suddenly feels a sharp pain in his side, and he pauses to look down. Blood begins to seep from his uniform, making his skin feel tacky. He stares at it for a long moment in a weird sense of disconnect before there is another sound of a gun going off, then another. From behind him, he’s vaguely aware of someone screaming that they need to make sure ‘the thing is dead too.’

He falls to his knees and then there is hands on him, holding him down. The creature screams from below him, from inside him and through him, and then they’re screaming together. Ben can’t see what’s going on, can’t even make sense of it. There’s a wet plopping noise and he looks to the left. A tentacle lies severed, still squirming. The hands are on him for a moment longer, then there is nothing. No more voices, from around him or within him. He feels empty.

He sighs softly then, agony settling into complete numbness. He looks up at the ceiling, staring through the broken skylight (how did that smash again?) at the sun above. It seemed muted somehow: its brilliance having been dimed to pale light, gentle like the moon. Ben thinks it looks lonely up there, with no stars for company. Because really, who wants to look into the sun and all its vicious beauty.

‘Klaus will see me’ he thinks to himself, releasing a little painful laugh as he thinks about his brother being the moon in this analogy. The gentle peace keeper, equally as lonely but providing light in the darkest of times. He is the sun and Klaus is the moon.

Ben smiles then, heaving one more shallow breath before he goes still.

 

 ***

 

 Being a ghost isn’t as bad as one might think. Yeah sure, it’s cold. You always feel like there’s an itch you can’t quite scratch and when people walk through you it’s like your stomach drops for miles. Watching your family grieve for you is also a downside.

Okay correction, being a ghost isn’t as bad as one might think when you have a brother who can see said ghosts. Or he should be able to, if he wasn’t so busy pumping his body full of substances.

Ben had spent the last week following his brother around in the wake of his death, desperate to be heard. He has screamed at him, begging him to stop. He had cried, curling up at his brother’s feet and telling him his life wasn’t worth this much grief. Once he had tried to reach out, lay a comforting hand on an inconsolable set of shoulders.

“What’s the point of me sticking around if you can’t even see me asshole! Come on, get a grip Klaus, for fucks sake. I need you to be sober. Please? Please, please, _please_ ,” he had screamed, trying to shake his brother’s shoulder from where he lay on the bathroom floor, vomiting into the toilet.

His hand had went straight through, and he never tried again.

It was a few days after that that Father had put a statue of him up in the courtyard, standing proud and brave. He hated it. He hadn’t been brave in the way his Father had always wanted. He did what he had to do because he wanted to keep his siblings safe. He wasn’t a hero, he was just a boy with a gift that he never really wanted.

“I hate it,” he said, and Klaus had lifted his head from beside him.

That had been the beginning.

**Author's Note:**

> Should I write a happier instalment next time? I think I might... change things up a little. Any opinions?


End file.
